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by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the years after the Second World War, two young men try and find a place to belong and end up finding each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd really long fanfiction so if you see any mistakes please tell me! Enjoy~

_The year is 1939; with Hitler’s rise to power, another great war is at the doorsteps of Europe and the rest of the World. Somewhere in the English country side, a family is preparing for the inevitable battle._

Castiel looked down at his feet, pouting and sniffing, holding back his tears. The little boy’s shoes were muddy, his high socks ripped, and his knees scrapped and bloody. His shorts and blouse had mud on them as well as his shoes and twigs and leaves stuck out from odd angles from the tuffty black hair that resembled a birds nest. The eleven year old had obviously run here, tumbling down the hill his house was next to if his appearance was anything to go by.

Gabriel studied him, putting down his book and crossing his arms over his chest. His baby brother looked like a kicked puppy, standing at the door absolutely refusing to look up and meet his older brother’s gaze. They passed a few minutes like this, simply waiting for one another to speak.

The older Novak had years of experience with this, being the second youngest. He had once stood exactly where Castiel was now, facing Michael, Lucifer and Raphael all at once. He remembered Micheal’s disapproving scowl, Raphael’s sneer and Lucifer’s uncompassionate glare as their father took off his belt for the beating he always got when he did something wrong.

The small blue eyed boy probably thought that would be his fate too, which would explain why he was still staring at his shoes determinedly. It made Gabriel sad, because he would never hurt his brother, he would never let anyone else hurt his brother and the fact that he didn’t know that filled Gabriel with a strong sense of resentment towards his family.

“I… I fell.” Castiel finally gave in, whimpered his voice sounding raspy. The little boy held back his tears, sniffing and biting his lower lip in crumbling determination. The older brother sighed, taking a few steps closer to take a better look at Castiel, flinching when the little boy shied away.

“Don’t worry Cassy,” he mumbled reassuringly, kneeling down in front of Castiel. “I’m not going to hurt you…”  Castiel looked up, showing his puffy red eyes, open wide with fear and filled with tears, accentuating the unnatural shade of blue they were. His cheeks were stained with tear streaks and scraped; this only made the boy’s pale skin seem deathly.

Gabriel took his baby brother, lifting him with a low grunt up and cradling him in his arms. He felt the boy’s much smaller hands grab his blouse, burying his face in Gabriel’s neck. The older boy rocked the younger one gently, walking towards the bathroom with slow, steady steps. He could feel Castiel slowly relaxing in his arms, muscles releasing their earlier tension as he cuddling up further into the older boy’s arms.

Once in the bathroom, Gabriel gently put down the boy on the toilet seat, taking a moist towel from the sink. Castiel’s feet didn’t reach the ground yet, and as he rubbed the tears from his eyes Gabriel couldn’t help but find the sight extremely endearing.

It was heart warming and surreal knowing this small innocent creature was related to himall while being too aware he was also related to cold merciless bastards. His heart dropped a little at the thought. He fought back tears if his own, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he forced himself to stay in control of his emotions. He had to clean up his baby brother before anyone notice what had happened.

They stayed silent for a while; water dripping down the faucet, slow and paced, echoing in the small white tilled bathroom.  Gabriel’s breathing was hard whereas Castiel’s was quiet, barely there. The light that filtered in through the small glass paned window on top of the old leaky bath-tub was calming; gently illuminating the brothers in the small bathroom.

Castiel opened his pouty mouth once, then closed it, gently chewing on his lower lip mulling over something, his brows drawn in concentration. “Gabriel…” he started hesitantly in his frail little voice. “What’s wrong?”

The older brother’s hands stilled, his eyes falling closed as he visibly stopped himself from crying. His shoulder’s shook slightly as silence spread over them for a second time, this one much more tense however.  Castiel waited patiently, studying his brother with his incredulous blue eyes.

“Listen, Cassy…” Gabriel finally breathed voice shaky, taking his baby brother’s small pale face in his hands. “Mummy will be sending you to an old friend soon… very soon.” He took a deep breath, once, twice; his brother’s face was blank, eyes wide with horror. “Mummy’s friend is a kind man Castiel, he’ll be your teacher and you’ll be his apprentice. I’ve met him before, he’s peaceful and fair and just and…” Gabriel said hastily, his voice cracked at the end though, no longer capable of holding back the tears that had been threatening to fall for quite some time now.

He took his brother in his arms, holding him tightly and biting his lip so as not to whimper trying to retain some composure for Castiel. They stayed like that for some time, enough time for Gabriel to calm down but even then, the older boy still held onto the eleven year old, shielding him from the world. They were safe in their little country side house for now, they were far away from the poisonous air of the capital and the politic.

“Gabriel… where is the man?” Castiel asked calmly, far too calm for an eleven year old whose just been told he’s going to be shipped off to god knows where.  Gabriel let go of him, taking the small face in his hands again. Castiel was on the verge of tears too, looking frightened and afraid, yet his voice had not betrayed such emotion.

“No no no no no don’t cry…” Gabriel wiped away some stray tears with his thumb, marveling at his baby brother. “Listen to me Castiel, Mummy and me; we’re doing this to help you. I know you’re scared, but you have to understand that this is for your well being.” He paused, looking straight into the boy’s cerulean eyes. “Trust me.”

The small boy nodded vigorously, his words caught in his throat. His brother’s reassurance seemed to have calmed him. He _did_ trust Gabriel, he trusted his older brother more than anything in the worl, so if he said this man was kind, peaceful, fair, and just; then Castiel was absolutely sure that the man was exactly that.

“This man, his name is Gandhi,” Gabriel started explaininggently. “Mummy met him when she was young and he was studying in London. He lives in India and agreed to take you in. Cassy it’ll be great, you’ll make lots of friends, good ones, friends that’ll last you a life time…”  Castiel sniffed nodding vigorously for the second time, his voice failing him yet again.

Gabriel smiled a forced, tight lipped smile. “You’ll be fine…” he whispered hugging his baby brother again, knowing the same could not be said for him or anyone on their way to war.

 

 

Castiel looked around, wide eyed and afraid at the blur of movement that surrounded him. He had spent the last month traveling and had finally arrived at his destination: India.

The smell was what hit him first; it had attacked his senses and woken his imagination, it conjured in him images of lively colours and exotic plants and animals. Things he had never seen before, only dreamed of them and heard in stories from travelers who told their adventures to anyone who was willing to listen. Next it was the sound; the hoard of people walking, the merchants discussing at what price they would sell their products, the endless array of animals all calling out with their alien voices.

The little boy closed his eyes, thinking very hard, trying to transport himself back to those small English tea shops his mother used to take him to. Or those lively pubs his older brother Gabriel was so fond of. He tried to think back to his little country home, the hill he used to play on and the small village, only a short walk from his house. 

But Castiel was incapable of thinking about all those things he held so close to his heart, he was incapable of bringing up the slightest memory of England, his _home_. He was assaulted by all the foreign smells and strange sounds that appeared to come from all around him, surrounding him, making him dizzy and disoriented. He could feel his knees go weak and the ground beneath his feet all but disappear.

“Castiel Novak?” A voice said, piercing through his blurry surroundings. It was gentle, firm; a life line in the sea of confusion the small boy had been thrown in.

Opening his eyes, he saw a man in front of him, kneeling down so as to be at eye level with him. He had dark skin and even darker eyes, but they were kind. He was garbed in a simple white toga, the round glasses perched on his large nose accentuating his baldness. Warmth and security seemed to seep out of the man’s very being and settled on the poor frightened boy like a blanket of tranquility.

“Yes…” the eleven year old finally mumbled, nodding. “My name is Castiel.”  The man smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“Well Castiel, I am Gandhi. I will be taking care of you until you can go back home.” The Indian explained calmly, still on eye level with the small boy.

The English boy stayed quiet for a second, staring at the man in front of him with wide blue eyes, as if looking into the man’s very soul. All of his previous school masters and elders had told him not to look at people like that, that he didn’t look human when he did that. Yet Gandhi didn’t flinch, he contented himself in staying still, letting the child asses him.

“You have beautiful eyes.” He said after a while.

“You have a big nose.” Castiel answered, still staring at him. The man chuckled then, a good natured laugh that made the small boy smile despite himself.

“Come along Castiel,” Gandhi said, straightening to his full height, which wasn’t actually that impressive. In fact Gabriel was taller than him, and everyone knew Gabriel was short. “It is time for me to show you you’re home here in India.” In one hand he took the boy’s small bag, and in the other the boy’s small pale hand.

Castiel smiled, happily following Gandhi through the noises and smells of the train station that had seemed so scary at first, but had now become a marvelous garden of opportunities. 

 

A young man prayed silently in front of the open window of his room, the rug underneath his knees worn and discoloured from previous uses. Yet none of those uses were as passionate and heartfelt as this one. The young man’s black hair stuck out at odd angles and contrasted with his pale blue garbs, as did the pale skin of his hands. His voice was low and gruff, reciting the prayer he had only ever chanted once before.

He had taken note of the two men at the door quite a long time ago, he was always aware of his surroundings, but he ignored them in favor of quickening his prayer. Tears were slowly forming in his eyes and his heart clenched in his chest with every passing minute, he placed his forehead to the ground letting his tears flow from his cheeks.

He had no doubt that the two men at the door could see what he was doing, but he honestly didn’t care. The man who had practically raised him, the man he considered as a father, the man an entire nation loved was dead. He had been murdered right in front of him, surrounded by family and friends.

“Castiel…” he heard one of the two men sigh from the door, patience all worn out. “May we come in?” they asked. The young man took a deep breath, sitting upright to look at the two men at the door. He didn’t bother wiping away his tears, he was in pain and he had no trouble showing it to the world.

“Lord Mountbatten, Nehru.” He greeted them each with a nod, not quite taking note of the importance both men owned.

“Listen Castiel… we’re here to talk about what happened.” Nehru started, trying to be as delicate as possible.

“What is there to talk about?” the young man started, looking up at Nehru and practically staring into his soul. “We all know what happened. We can’t change that and we will never be able to change it. All we can do is move on, but never forget.” Castiel said, meeting both the Englishman and the Indian’s eyes.

“You always were wise beyond your age…” Nehru smiled sadly, probably recalling the many times the young man had surprised and shocked him in when he was smaller. His eyes sparked with affection as he probably reminisced to earlier years, the years of Castiel’s childhood.

“But you’re still nineteen Castiel.” Lord Mountbatten insisted rather annoyingly, clamping his hands over one another. “We want to make sure you don’t do something foolish,” he paused eyeing the kneeling man. “Like go after the assassin by yourself fueled by some sort of crazy sense of vengeance.”

The young man blinked once, then twice, his head cocking to the side and his brows knitting together in confusion. “I… I assume this is a discussion you’ve had with Harilal and Manilal… Devdas and Ramdas as well I suppose.”

“Yes.” Nehru answered, giving the English Lord a steady look, a blatant warning. “We have.” He went back to looking at Castiel, expression going softer.

Castiel wet his lips, looking at the floor then back at the Muslim a few times. “And what was their answer?”

“This is not about them. But if it makes you feel better they are not on a quest for revenge. The question is whether you are.” Nehru patiently explained, the Lord to his right growing increasingly restless.

“I haven’t even thought of it…” Castiel answered with complete sincerity, cocking his head to the left in slight wonder at such an idea. Relief, of course, was clear on the men’s faces as they relaxed their stiff shoulders.

“Then what are you going to do with yourself? You have a family both here and in England.”

“He shall return to England I believe.” Lord Mountbatten stated, not a slimmer of doubt in his voice. This was of course met with silence. Castiel stared at the Englishman intensely, his head cocked to the side again. Nehru too, looked strangely upon his counterpart. “What?” the man spat out after a few seconds of this. “It only seems natural!”

“How is it ‘natural’? The boy has been here since he was eleven, that’s eight years ago Lord Mountbatten. His home is in India as much as it is in England.” Nehru said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ _Yes_ , that may be true.” The Englishman said through gritted teeth. “But he has family in the countryside. I know that for a fact.” The Lord smirked lightly, already imagining his victory in this argument.

“A family I was never close to.” Castiel interrupted, slightly angry that both men were talking about him as if he weren’t there. “My father was a devout army man and my three older brothers were very much the same. The only people in my ‘family’ that I’ve ever been close to are my late mother and my other brother Gabriel. Currently Gabriel is living in France with our cousin Balthazar. They’re fighting the Nazis if you wanted the details.” He said this coolly, as if stating a mathematical equation.

“And have no desire to go join them? We _are_ winning after all.” Lord Mountbatten asked, trying to remain calm.

“Gabriel told me not to go visit him; that he would come to me.” Castiel answered in the same fashion as the Englishman. “There is a _war_ going on in Europe, and it doesn’t matter who’s winning it.”

“But none of this answers the question of what you’re going to do!” Lord Mountbatten grew more impatient with every passing second.

“I will stay here. I’m happy here, and even though _bapu_ is no longer with us I will continue to be here. I’ll turn this place into a safe haven for those with no place to go. In my time of need this country welcomed me and so did a great man. I plan to help others as he has helped me.” Castiel paused, finally standing up to his full height. “As for my brother, he has agreed to support me in any decision I take. So if you want to take me back to England you won’t be able to find any support with him.”  The young man stood straight, eyes locked on both men and his voice conveying his fiery determination.  It was evident he was absolutely not going to back down, and absolutely no one was going to stop him.

The two men shared soul full looks and nodded at the boy. “If that is what you wish.” They both said in low, humble voices, astounded by the young man’s will and determination, and with that they left Castiel, finally alone so he could finish his prayer in peace and quiet.

 

It was seven years after Ghandi’s death.

Castiel still remembered it, having come to terms with his grief years ago; but he never forgot his purpose and what he promised Nehru and Mountbatten. Not that he would have any reason to back down from his promise; things were going well for him. The New Year had rolled by uneventfully, well, as uneventful as you could get in his home, and it was now February.

He sighed contentedly, staring off into the distance in the dark night, the stars shining brightly as if showing their joy at the New Year. He could feel the warmth coming from inside the house, along with the delicious scent of food and the light from the candles and fire. Everything was fine, everything was peaceful.

“Castiel?” he heard someone call him faintly from the door.

Turning around, he spotted one of his guests hesitantly approaching him. “Mandriel…” he greeted him, with a nod and a welcoming smile. The teenager got closer, now reassured ever so slightly, stopping about two feet from the dark haired man.

“Are you alright?” He quipped after a small pause where he flicked his eyes from his feet to the older man. Castiel frowned slightly, cocking his head to the side; Mandirel recognised it as his ‘I’m not sure I understand’ expression, he had gotten it a lot of times before and was well acquainted with it.

“Why do you ask?” Mandriel shrugged, shuffling his feet with unease feeling his voice slowly turn redunder the older man’s scrutiny.

“You seemed pensive is all…” the teen muttered, embarrassed. Castiel didn’t answer, simply studied the young teenager in front of him.

Mandriel had been the son of the local catholic priest’s late sister, Castiel recalled. The boy wasn’t as passionate about religion as his uncle would’ve hoped for unfortunately, and so got a bit neglected at the church. It was nothing serious; the boy grew lonely however from the lack of attention. That was when Castiel found him, and offered him a place in his home. At first the boy had been hesitant, but soon he saw that the place was filled with misfits and orphans just like him. After his realisation he promptly moved in with them and had been staying there ever since.

Most people left after a while, the house being a stepping stone for most. A place where you could stay until the time came where they sorted out their lives and went off to start anew. Mandriel for some reason had stayed. He helped out around the house to the best of his abilities, he looked after the sick, helped around the kitchen, cleaned every room whenever it was needed, helped the women to spin the cotton despite Castiel’s best efforts to get him out in the world.

All in all he was a puzzling boy, but his intentions were pure and his goal, however mysterious, noble.

“I feel like something special will happen this year.” Castiel finally said, startling the boy out of his own thoughts.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see Mandriel...”

 

 

_It’s 1955 during the New Year; the Cold War has begun, and there are already those who believe a full out war with the Soviets is imminent, that it’s just a matter of time before the bombs drop and blood is spattered on the ground for the third time this century._

A young man sat alone on a park bench, a guitar carefully placed next to him safe in its protective hard black case. The sky above was an unpleasant sort of grey, but blinding to the eye if anyone were to look up. Snow fell from the clouds, clumping together to form these massive balls of fluffy cold, settling heavily on the tree branches and on the ground, creating a vast blanket of smooth ice white that covered everything.

The young man was not saved from this, not being sheltered by anything, but he didn’t move. With his hands shoved in his leather jacket, the young man watched his breath condensate as he exhaled. He paid no mind to the biting cold that made his feet and nose feel numb, that made his entire being feel cold.

After a while he sighed, finally getting up watching the snow that had accumulated on his shoulders slide off to join the small pile that had formed at his feet. Rubbing his hands together to get some kind of warmth from the friction, he grabbed his guitar and slung it around his shoulder safely securing the strap.

Taking a deep breath he braced himself for the long walk ahead of him, already dreading his return home after his long night out. He could feel his thick wallet in his back pocket, filled with one dollar bills and tips from customers at the bar he had performed in. Dean’s hopes that it would be enough to soothe his father’s rage was hopeless, so instead he wished John Winchester was hung over from another one of his drinking sprees.

He felt a pang in his chest, like every time he wished his father was drunk. But he couldn’t help himself; when sober his father was a quasi-dictator, going on and on about his military service and how his sons weren’t patriotic enough. When drunk he only needed the tiniest push to start beating either one of his sons for being ‘disrespectful towards the nation’ or being ‘God damn commies’. The only time being around John Winchester was considered bearable was when he was suffering the after effects of alcohol.

No one visited the Winchester household anymore, not after their mother Mary had died. Even less after John Winchester came back home after those long years in Europe, fighting the Great War and liberating the Europeans from Hitler’s reign of terror. The world had left Dean and his baby brother to their own devices though, with no one to help them but a scruffy old man who lived across the street; because as noble as their father’s cause was, the world didn’t seem to care.

Life had not been kind to Dean, his mother got taken away from him at the tender age of five and then at eight he had to learn how to take care of his baby brother. He had done the best job he could, and everyone in the small town respected him, everyone but his own father. The father that regularly beat the boys for not following in his footsteps and joining the army, the father that treated them as soldiers instead of sons, the father that in no way deserved to be called ‘dad’.

Once he finally got to his home, he carefully made his way up the path, silently thanking whatever god was out there that the stairs were far too frozen to protest under his familiar weight, but not frozen enough to make him slip. Icicles hung from the porch, giving the house an eerie sort of vibe it couldn’t hope to attain during the summer. Pressing his ear against the wall, he strained his hearing to try and catch any signs of life.

There was the soft creak of wood on the second floor, someone moving about quietly. Then there was heavy snoring coming from the living room, closer to the door and unbearable to all household members no doubt. The soft pair of footsteps was probably his little brother’s, Sam, whereas the snoring was unmistakably his father’s.

Dean quietly took out his keys from his pocket, gently sliding them into the keyhole, turning it gently and unlocking the entrance with a soft click of the door. He pressed his shoulder firmly against the door, pushing upwards as if lifting the door from his hinges, but only slightly. He had learned this trick for opening the front door without making a sound. His father was a heavy sleeper, but the eldest son didn’t risk waking the hung over man.

Once he had shed all his coats and the front door was safely closed and locked again, he ventured into the living room, risking taking a peek at his sleeping father. Judging by the way he was sprawled on the couch, he had most likely fallen there and not bothered to get back up, passing out shortly thereafter. A pool of drool had accumulated next to John’s mouth on the white cushion his head rested on at an awkward angle, making him look even more disgusting and grubbier than he usually was.

There had been a time where Dean would have cleaned up his father, would have taken care of him as a mother would take care of a new born baby incapable of looking after itself. But that time was long gone, along with the blind faith he had had in his father. He had been like a soldier, a hard working, order taking, mindless, and despicable soldier.

At the time he had seen nothing wrong with it, but then John had gone a step too far in his drunken tirade; and from that moment on Dean was no longer his father’s one man army. He was his own man. Sam had never given into his dad’s crazy ideals; he had always fought against them since the day he was old enough to understand what was going on. Dean liked to think of his brother as a righteous man, a man of peace; although to his face he called his little brother a book-worm and a smart ass most of the time, because that’s what older brothers did.

Mindlessly he had made made his way up to his little bother’s room, so used to not making the old wooden stairs creak he didn’t even have to think about it anymore. He slowly walked to his brother’s shut door, knocking on it gently. The soft footsteps stilled, and started again, this time heading towards the door. It slowly creaked open, revealing Sam’s curious head.

“Dean!” He yelped in surprise, quickly opening the door and letting his brother in. “I didn’t think you’d be back so early…” he said, taking in the sight of his brother, nose and ears still red from the cold.

“Yeah well, I couldn’t walk around with the all this sweet cash on me. I might get robbed!”  Dean gasped dramatically, smirking as he fished out his wallet from his back pocket and waving it under Sam’s nose.  The younger brother’s eyes went wide as he quickly snatched the full wallet from his older brother’s hand.

“Holly hell Dean how did you even _get_ all this money?” Sam gapped, taken out the incredible amount of bills from the wallet, turning around to place them on the table and count them no doubt.

 _Geek._ Dean thought fondly, sitting down on the shabby chair next to the door, watching his brother meticulously count every single one of the bills. “Three birthday parties and an incredible amount of booze, man those Canadian guys sure know how to drink. They out drank everyone by a mile. I gotta tell you Sammy, they were beasts.”

“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow, eyes still glued on the money, still counting. “What are they even doing here?”

Dean shrugged, knowing his brother could see him. “Said they were on a road trip or something.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the peace they gave each other, the peace that would most definitely be disturbed in a few hours. Dean watched patiently as Sam counted and recounted the money, noticing how every time he finished counting and restarted, his expression became a little bit happier, and the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

Sam suddenly shot up, almost tripping over his long limbs in his attempt to scramble to his bed side table. He fished out a worn wooden box, one Dean had only seen on this type of occasion. His younger brother eagerly opened it, taking out everything that was in the box and dumping it on the bed, along with last night’s tips.

“Dean!” Sam beamed at his older brother, motioning for him to go sit down on the bed excitedly. “Come on!”

Sam’s smile was a sight for sore eyes, particularly Deans. It reminded him that good things could happen, it reminded him that his brother was there for him, it gave him hope in an increasingly dim future. Sam only smiled like this on rare occasions, his dimples making his happiness beam from his very being. As a kid he had smiled like this a lot more, but once he got his first growth spurt and John started training him to become a soldier it all stopped. That was when the ‘rebellion’ started, according to John that is.

“We have enough money to go to France Dean!”

 _France_.

Now there was something Dean hadn’t thought of in a while.

The idea of going to France seemed rather foreign to him now. It seemed like such a long time ago since he had first thought about crossing the Atlantic with Sam and going to live in France. He found himself wandering back to those nights, locked safely in his room away from his rampaging father holding his sleeping brother in his arms.

The initial idea had been to simply run away, go to California or somewhere where their father couldn’t find them. At first Dean had kept the idea all to himself, not sure if Sam would want to leave their home in Kansas. Fate had it however that his little brother had an escape plan for when he had enough money to leave. He had said that he hadn’t told Dean because he was scared that he would over react and tell their father and after reassuring his little brother this absolutely was not the case, they went on to exchange their dreams.

That’s when the whole concept of France had come into the game. Sam made a good argument about it too; their father would find them anywhere if they stayed anywhere accessible by road to John. Because there was absolutely no doubt that papa Winchester would hunt them down and drag them back home by the ears kicking and screaming. France, Sam had said, was the cradle of democracy, the country of the modern Olympics, literature, paintings, music; in short a country of freedom. That and the fact that he had a pen pal that would gladly let them stay at his house as long as it took them to settle in their new lives. There was much debate over the subject, but Dean finally gave in. He never really cared about where they were going to end up, just as long as they were together.

Once they agreed on the outline of their escape plan, Sam immediately attacked the finer points of their plan. How they were going to get to France, how they were going to finance it, what they would take, who they would tell; every single insignificant little detail.

First thing was first however; they needed money.

Sam had calculated that with Dean and Sam both working on it, they would have enough money to go to France in about a year. It would have taken a lot less time, but Sam needed to finish his studies and Dean was absolutely dead set against the idea of his little brother getting a job instead of a diploma. Once it was clear that Dean wouldn’t be moved like he was for the France ordeal, Sam set his heart and soul into getting the diploma all while patiently waiting for the day they had enough money to leave.

Now that day was finally here.

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, unable to believe his brother.

“Absolutely Dean,” Sam beamed, his dimples even more prominent than they were before giving his face an endearing look, like a puppy. “I counted it six times. We have enough money to go to France!”

His little brother’s excitement was starting to rub off on Dean, despite the older Winchester’s attempts to stay sober. He grinned at his brother, silently holding back the full out laugh he wanted to let out. He could feel it curling up in his chest, the realisation that his dream was within his reach finally crashing down on him.

Dean shot out of his seat at the same time Sam did; they caught each other in one of their signature Winchester brother hugs, famous for being so rare. The two brothers held each other tightly; Dean could feel Sam was seconds away from starting to jump up and down squealing like a little girl so he let go of his little brother and grabbed Sam by the scruff of the neck, resolute on having Sam’s full attention on him.

“Sammy listen… _Sammy.”_ Dean warned, his tone quickly dragging the younger Winchester from whatever fantasy land he had been traveling in. His attention was focused on Dean now, taking in his serious demeanor and sobering up almost immediately. “I’m going to go out now and see if I can get us a ride to New York. Meanwhile I want you to pack everything we can carry. Remember; hitchhiking, boat, train. So that means-”

“Anything we can’t carry with us, we don’t carry at all.” Sam finished, his features slowly transforming into his bitch face as though they had gone through this a million times before. Dean chuckled, playfully hitting his little brother over the head and starting towards the door.

Right before he went out the door he turned around, looking his brother in the eye. “Oh and, Sammy?” he said, a slight smirk to his tone.

“Yeah Dean?” he answered, slightly annoyed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Forget the Impala and I will hang you by your toes and drag you all the way to France you hear me?” Dean threatened, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“You’re going to drag me across the Atlantic Ocean?” Sam used his bitch face again, this time also raising an eyebrow. “With a guitar?”

Dean paused for a second, his brow furrowing in concentration. “I’ll drag you all the way to New York!” Dean paused. “ _With_ the Impala.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” and with that final exchange Dean shut the door and quickly made it out of the house, no longer caring if he woke his father because for the first time in what seemed like an eternity Dean felt free.

The cold air that had seemed to numb him before had no effect on him whatsoever. He felt like the happiest man in the world and nothing was going to bring him down. He felt as if his heart was about to leap from his chest and wings were going to sprout from his back and send him soaring into the sky. He felt lie screaming out to the world, but contained himself and contented himself to hum loudly, practically bouncing.

He knew full well that the next few weeks weren’t going to be easy, far from it they were going to test his will and patience he knew that. But if he was going on this trip and he was going to go through the hardships, he was damn well going to enjoy his moment of happiness and he would be damned before anything brought him down from his good mood.

Although somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he’d miss Lawrence. He could feel a slight sense of sadness at leaving his home town, the town he grew up in, the town he had his first baseball game, his first ride on a bike, his first fight, his first girlfriend, his first everything. He felt sad leaving it all behind, but he didn’t feel regret. Although all the good memories of the small Kansas town were from when his mother was alive or his father was off fighting in Europe.  It was all rather twisted but Dean had come to terms with it ages ago. On the other hand the small town had not been kind to him the last few years and all of its magic had gone.

So he decided to leave the bad memories behind with his father, and take all the good with him. His favorite guitar, the Impala, his baby brother and the few family pictures he owned of happier times.

And with that thought in mind he merrily started towards the bar, set on finding them a ride to New York.

 

It was approximately two months after they left their home town and they had finally made it. They were in Paris.

A lot had happened on the trip, more than enough to fill an entire book. They had hitchhiked all the way to New York, although the majority of the trip was made with the group of Canadians Dean had met at the bar who were, in fact, doing a road trip across all of North America. They were a weird lot, but quirky, friendly and as harmless as a fly; Sam had almost immediately opened up to them, telling them about their plans to get to Paris. Dean had only opened up to them after they told them there was a ship going to Bretagne, the North Western part of France, and that they would happy to get them on board using their various connections. Once they had gotten to the big apple, the group of northerners made them promise to keep in touch; Sam was delighted to oblige. Dean was too in fact, rather begrudgingly, although he didn’t show it as much as his little brother.

The boat’s name was _The Roadhouse,_ an odd name for a boat admittedly but the captain, Ellen Harvelle, was a stern woman with a no-nonsense attitude that got things done. A natural gift that came as naturally to her as breathing; if it hadn’t been for her the whole crew would have probably eaten each other alive. The fact that she was a woman surprised Dean and Sam at first, but soon they understood why she had been captain of the _Roadhouse_ for so long without incident.

On the journey Dean met someone, a strange man by the name of Balthazar Roché Novak. He was French and was going back home to visit his cousin. Although the man was European his English was flawless and no doubt better than Dean’s would ever be. Turns out Balthazar came from a rich family and had gotten an excellent education as a child, but turned down being a high class aristocrat in favour of traveling the globe. Dean and he soon became good friends, whether it was due to the close quarters or the fact that there were no other passengers on the boat apart from the seamen the Winchester would never know. But the fact remained; they now knew someone who promised to help them settle down in France.

When they finally got to Bretagne, Balthazar gracefully bought them train tickets to Paris, saying they would need the money to pay for an apartment once they got to town. They argued for a while, but Dean finally caved in, knowing everything his friend was saying was true. During the few hours between Bretagne and Ile-de-France Dean spent his time thinking while Sam and Balthazar talked about their destination and its various allures.

The musician found he enjoyed traveling, not enough to do it forever of course, but enough to want to keep going even if it was just for a while. He was so close to his final destination and he didn’t feel any more fulfilled than he did at the beginning of their journey. For a brief second Dean contemplated traveling through Europe for a few weeks and then settling down, but soon reminded himself that he had to take care of Sam. His brother needed him and he wouldn’t leave him alone in a town they barely knew in order to accomplish his own selfish goals.

“There he is!” Balthazar exclaimed, taking hold of the two Winchesters and dragging them through the crowd of people towards the gates of the train station. The trio had gotten off the train and the Frenchman had told them his cousin had come to pick him up, but that he would gladly bring them with him and show them around the enormous capital for the rest of the day. “Gabriel!”

“Balthazar!” a delighted cry came from the crowd as one of the many men from the crowd pushed their way towards the three men. Once Dean could see him clearly the American noted the man was short, but bore himself straight with certainty and ease, like he knew something you didn’t but didn’t give any allusions as to _what_ he knew. His eyes were a rich caramel colour and his hair was combed back. His clothes were classy, but not so much that they were out of place in such a place like the Gare-de-Lyon. Balthazar let go of Sam and Dean, giving the much shorter man a hug.

They let go, giving each other a last fond tap on the back. Balthazar’s cousin’s attention was then completely taken by the two Winchesters who felt like they stuck out like a sore thumb. “Who have you adopted this time Balthy?” the short man asked, a small mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

“This one is Dean Winchester,” the Frenchman said nudging at the musician with his head. “The freakishly tall one is Sam Winchester, Dean’s younger brother as strange as that must seem.” He commented, smirking like his cousin, and suddenly Dean understood how the two were related.

The older Winchester glanced sideways at his little brother, who was red as a tomato and shuffling awkwardly on the spot probably wishing the ground would swallow him up to save himself from the amused scrutiny of the two Europeans.

“I suppose we’re taking them in until they get their new lives sorted out…” Gabriel said, turning around and starting towards the exit gates, Balthazar only one step behind.

“How did you-” Dean started, scrambling to follow behind the two Europeans, Sam copying him

“The magic gift of any Novak, Winchester; get used to it.” Gabriel shot over his shoulder, glancing behind him to see if the two Americans were following him.

“Novak?”

“It’s my last name.” the short man explained, still walking surprisingly fast for someone so small and Dean and Sam had to practically job behind them to keep up, careful not to walk into the bustling Parisians who were in no way scared to throw random French swear words at them if they had the misfortune of bumping into them. 

 

 

It was now mid June, the streets of Paris bustling with tourists rushing from one attraction to the next, filling up the wallets of all the boutiques and restaurants. The sun and woman seemed to inspire poets and artists in a way only summer could. Everyone in town was happy and in the Winchester apartment everything was going perfectly, at least almost everything was.

Sam was completely immersed; he spoke French almost perfectly and was delighted to learn about all the different customs and habits the French had. He had even made a couple of friends: there was Chuck, a book shop owner and aspiring writer, the kid wasn’t too bright but he was likeable, in a pathetic sort of way. Then there was Jessica, Sam’s not yet girlfriend; although it was starting to be painfully obvious that there was something going on between those two. Jessica was a nice girl, smart and witty, just enough to be able to deal with the Winchesters.

Dean on the other hand found himself struggling with the language, and even more with the people. He liked Paris, he really did; but deep down inside he still had a yearning for the life they had shared for such a brief amount of time. He didn’t feel fulfilled, he didn’t feel at home. Still, his baby brother was happy and that was all that mattered. He would just burry it deep down and soldier on. No one would notice right? Wrong.

“You don’t actually want to be here do you?” Gabriel cornered him one night in the kitchen, after having picked up all the plates. Dean froze, hand halfway to the soap next to the sink, water pouring down on the dirty dishes.

“What makes you say that?” The musician choked out, quickly going back to washing the dirty plates. He didn’t, however, miss the raised eyebrow Gabriel gave him along with the crossed arms and the ‘I’m not taking any of your shit today Winchester’ pose.

“Everyone’s noticed: Balthazar, Chuck, Jessica, me… Sam.” Dean froze again, unable to stifle his reaction. “Oh yes, we actually all agreed it would be best if I were the one to talk to you. They said something about me getting through your thick skull easier than anyone else.” The Winchester made an indignated noise, ready to argue. “Save it princess we came up with a solution to your problem.”

“My problem?” Dean snapped, letting go if the plate he was holding causing a loud clatter. “And how would _you_ know what my problem is?” he couldn’t hold back the poisonous tone his voice took on then as he gritted his teeth and hissed at the shorter man, who in turn remained completely and absolutely unfazed.

“All we’re saying is that maybe some time away from Paris will do you some good. Sam already organised everything, Chuck will be staying with him and together they’ll afford the rent. If anything happens they still have Balthazar and Jessica…” Dean stared at the short man, weighing his options, not daring to hope that maybe he could go off and do what he wanted. As if sensing his indecision, Gabriel kept on talking, eyes boring into Dean. “Come on Winchester, you’re brother’s going to be fine… Go out, live life!”

They fell silent now, the short man hopeful, and the musician contemplating…

 

 

Castiel stood at the train station, eyeing the passing crowd searchingly. The place brought back memories of the first time he had been in India. Everything had been so frightening back then, everything had been so new; but he had been guided through the dark times by his master. He would always love Gandhi for what he had done for him, would always do the same thing he had done for Castiel to others.

That’s why he was in the train station now. Gabriel had written to him about one of his friends; an American gone to France to restart his life with his younger brother. His name was Dean Winchester if Castiel remembered correctly. As it turned out Dean wasn’t too fond of Paris but was reluctant to leave because his brother was perfectly integrated, however he had been talked into going to India to visit Castiel’s home.  Gabriel had seemed quite fond of Dean and Sam in his letter, Balthazar as well. That didn’t happen so often given the two men were completely different kinds of strange, so he was eager to meet the American.

The train pulled up in the station and stopped, the engine releasing a great load of steam clouding the passengers from Castiel’s eyes. It took a few minutes for all of it to clear up and by then everyone was already on the platform going in various different directions. Frowning, the young man craned his neck in search of his brother and the American.

He hoped he would see them soon, but doubted it. Gabriel was short and Castiel had no idea what Dean looked like. He wouldn’t think it would be pleasant if on his first trip to India the American got lost at the train station, as far as first impressions went that didn’t seem like a good one. The young man tried to get as close to the gates as possible, unfortunately the mass of people walking out of the platform was over whelming and pushed Castiel out.

He ran into a man then, quite by accident, causing them both to tumble over in a heap on the floor. Castiel sorely regretted his choice of clothing that day then, cursing himself for putting on his robes and not something more practical. The man’s limbs were all mixed up in his tunic as they struggled to disentangle themselves.

“I’m so sorry!!” Castiel said in Hindi, still trying to untangle himself from the struggling stranger. “Please excuse me sir I’m terribly sorry!” he continued, repeating the same thing in English just for good measure and probably because he had the tendency to ramble when he was embarrassed.

“Hey, man. Just. Stop. Struggling!” the stranger gasped, grabbing onto Castiel’s wrists. The young man froze, tensing up. “Jesus Christ I’m not going to hurt you I’m just saying: stop moving!”

Without much fuss, they finally managed to disentangle themselves and get back up on their feet.

Castiel studied them much taller man, taking a note of his freckles, his sun tanned skin, his broad shoulders, his hair. The man was obviously American and quite big compared to the young man’s skinny frame. He would be lying if he didn’t feel the least bit attracted to the stranger.

“You... You wouldn’t happen to be Dean Winchester by any chance?” Castiel asked hesitantly, still rearranging his robes. The American looked at him in surprise, opening his mouth to answer but closing it straight away.

“Are you…” he started biting his lip. “You’re Castiel Novak then I suppose…” He nodded in answer to the tall man. “Nice to meet you then.” Dean smiled hesitantly, sticking out his hand. Castiel took it, giving him a firm shake, eyes still glued on the man’s face.

They made eye contact and held it for a good minute in complete silence. There was something about the man in front of him that was fascinating to Castiel, something about the way he held himself or the way he simply was. It was very disconcerting and he noticed his intense gaze was starting to provoke a rather strange reaction in Dean.

“Well look at what the cat dragged in!” someone interrupted them, popping up from in between them. “I knew you two were going to get along but _damn_ was that fast!”

“Gabriel.” Both men said at the same time at the small intruder.

“You’re even in sync!” Gabriel sing sung, hugging his bag tightly against his chest and swooning. “When’s the marriage boys?” he asked in a high pitch voice, probably mimicking a young girl.

“Shut up Gabriel.” Dean growled, ripping the bag out of Gabriel’s arms and flinging it over his shoulder, looking away from Castiel. The small man cackled, elbowing his younger brother in the side and waggling his eye brows. It was only the beginning of this particular war, Castiel was sure.

“Gabriel, it’s good to see you are in good health.” Castiel sighed, smiling down at his older brother.

“Why wouldn’t I be I’m fabulous!” he responded picking up a guitar case and handing it to Dean, who took it begrudgingly. “Now Cassy, I’m sure we can catch up later so you have to tell me where the car is waiting for us!”

“By the gate over th-” Castiel started, before being yanked by the robes and dragged over to the wrong gates by his brother. Dean too was being pulled along by his surprisingly strong brother, cussing at the short man. “G-Gabriel that’s the wrong gate!”

The small man stopped abruptly, looking over his shoulder at his younger brother. “Well then.” He sighed dramatically, making a U-turn and dragging them in the opposite direction, Dean still cussing at his side.

‘It’s always nice when family visits.’ Castiel thought fondly, looking forwards to his brother’s stay.

 

Sam sat down on his couch, looking over the letter that Gabriel had given him when he ahd gone to pick him up. Dean hadn’t been there with Gabriel, so of course Sam had started causing a fuss. It took a while for Jessica and Chuck to calm him down, but when he finally started listening to the short man, the later had given him the letter and told him to go home and read it. He then assured the younger Winchester that Dean wasn’t dead. Now he was back in his apartment, Jessica, Chuck, Balthazar, and Gabriel in the kitchen fixing up dinner, all while leaving Sam alone to read the mystery letter.

It was in a plain white envelope, there was no stamp and no signs of it having passed through any postal service. It had ‘Sam’ written on the front of the envelope in Dean’s familiar chicken scratch. There was something in the envelope; it was small and sort of heavy.

Taking a deep breath, Sam opened it. Already expecting the worse.

_Dear Samantha,_

               _I hope to god that Gabriel hasn’t told you anything and if he has tell him that I will find him in the deepest depths of hell and he will face my wrath. I want to be the one to tell you everything and I don’t want those pesky Novaks getting involved. I’m staying in India. I can already picture you getting all emotional and wondering ‘Why I didn’t tell you anything before’ and I’m going to answer that straight out. It was kind of a last minute decision. We were only supposed to stay here for a month, but so much things happened in the last four weeks and I’ve kind of come to like living here in India. I have to admit that I was rather disoriented at the beginning; everything was so weird and different, including Gabriel’s brother. I have to admit though the place grows on you, there are so many interesting people here. There’s this kid called Mandriel, real nerd, you’d like him. And this girl called Lisa, she’s from the States like us! The list could go on really. Then there’s Castiel, Gabriel’s brother, he runs the house and only house Mandriel to help him. I figured I would stick around to help. You’d like Cas too, he’s real quiet and looks like a religion freak but he’s pretty cool once you get to know him. We’ve gotten pretty close this past month what with all the shit we’ve been through. I swear there isn’t a single day that goes past here that can even be considered remotely normal! But you know Cas is always there in case I feel like my sanity just can’t take it. I love being here, and I know I’m not exactly telling you why I’m staying, but I know I just do. But just because I’m halfway across the world doesn’t mean you’re not going to send me letters every damn day of you life, got that Sammy? I’m your older brother and you’re just going to have to deal with it. In any case you can always come visit me and Cas, you can bring Jess with you too! Because if you haven’t made a move on her yet I’m going to have to go all the way over to Paris again and force your ass to do something about this almost romance you’ve got going on. Seriously Sammy it’s getting old. Anyway, I hope Balthazar isn’t being too much of a prick to you, send my best thought to Chuck and my love to your not- girlfriend._

_Your awesome older brother,_

_Dean Winchester_

_P.S. Cas says he would love to send you a letter but finds it ‘inappropriate for two people that have never met to exchange letters’, whatever that means._

_P.P.S. He also says he didn’t ask me to write that down in the letter and that you should accept the charm he’s going to put in the envelope as a ‘gesture of solidarity’. Again, I have no clue what that means._

Sam blinked in surprise and reread the letter again. Then he read it a third time for good measure.

“Hey guys,” Sam started eyeing the charm he had taken out of the envelope as Chuck and Jessica put the table for dinner. “What do you recon the charm is for?” he asked, showing his four friends.

“That’s a Hindi charm, you give it to your lovers family I believe…” Balthazar answered after looking at the charm.

Sam frowned, something nagging at him from the back of his head as he reread the letter for a fourth time. Then he called his friends and asked them to read the letter in turn, asking them what they thought about it. While they read it Sam went over everything in the letter in his head, trying to figure out what was so weird about it, the charm still in his hand.

There was something about it the charm that bugged the younger Winchester, something about the letter too, something in the back of his head nagging at him and demanding to be noticed. The letter was so much like Dean it attacked you with how much it was Dean’s, but there was something behind that and it absolutely infuriated Sam.

Once everyone finished reading the letter, everyone voiced their different reactions to it.

“Maybe you should tell your brother that you and Jess finally got together…” Chuck mumbled, handing the letter back to Sam. The Winchester nodded, but stayed contemplative, the rest of the group mimicking him subconsciously.

“Gabriel… Are Dean and Cas… together?” Jessica finally asked, hesitantly. The whole group suddenly had a revelation, they finally figured out what was nagging at them. Jessica had found exactly what everyone was trying so desperately to pin down in their minds.

“I think so Jessica, I think so…” Gabriel answered, eyes slowly going to Sam. In fact, everyone was eyeing Sam now for some reason. A tense moment passed through the group where everyone had their eyes glued to Sam. The later tensed up under the scrutiny, until he suddenly realised what everyone was so eagerly waiting for.

“Your brother better not be a bastard Gabriel, or else I might just have to track him down if he hurts my brother!” Sam joked, smiling, showing everyone that things were still the same, that he still loved Dean. And why wouldn’t he? Dean was his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! Hope you liked it and enjoyed all the tid bits of history I put there. Not quite sure when I wrote this but I'm glad I did. It wasn't what I had originally planned to write but I guess i like it anyway!   
> I like to believe I know a lot about history but I'm no expert so if you see any mistakes or historical inaccuracies please for the love of god tell me because I hate those with the intensity of a thousand blazing suns.  
> I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you have a nice day~


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